


The Future Mrs.

by LarasLandlockedBlues



Series: A Beautiful Disaster [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Casual Sex, Confident Rylen, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Love at First Sight, Minor Cullen Rutherford/MGiT, Missionary Position, Modern Girl in Thedas, Not Canon Compliant, OTP Feels, One Night Stands, Or Is It?, POV Rylen (Dragon Age), Playful Sex, Romance, Shameless Smut, Strangers to Lovers, That isn't all that casual, The Author Regrets Nothing, Woman on Top, related to another fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 15:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20099608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues/pseuds/LarasLandlockedBlues
Summary: “What’s your name?” Rylen calls after her.She turns a curious smirk over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she tells him but she winks before turning away again to return to her work without another word.Rylen stares after her, a hand over his heart as if she wounded him.“Did you honestly ask a barmaid if she would be at the place she works this evening?” Cullen teases after a moment.“I’m going to marry that lass,” Rylen murmurs, still staring after her.Cullen lets out a few barks of laughter, almost choking on his ale as he does. “What?” he asks, laughing at the moony-eyed expression on his Second’s face. “Does she know that?”At the wedding reception for the Commander and his wife, Rylen gets a chance to let her know.





	The Future Mrs.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in the works for _months_ but I finally got a chance to look at it and wrap it up! Directly related to the main fic in this now series, [Beautiful Disaster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13388802/chapters/39128626), and shows yet another take on my OTP, Rylen and Abigail. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> xx,  
Lara

“Congratulations, Mrs. Rutherford.”

“Thank you, Rylen,” Cecilia greets him with a wide smile.

“Where’s your man? I was hoping to see if I could convince him to have another cup of Mackay’s with me,” Rylen says, and he glances around the tavern. 

“He’s grabbing me a plate of food,” she replies, looking over the rabble as well.

Rylen lets out a few barks of laughter, noticing the way she runs her hand over the slight curve of her belly. “Aye, suppose taking care of you matters more,” he agrees. “Well, I can try later, or maybe grab a cup with him along the way to the Approach. I’d hate to keep him from you tonight, and I’m certain he’ll be batty and lovesick along the journey.”

She giggles, giving him a sidelong glance. “I figured perhaps you would be taking the chance to speak with Cassandra, weren’t you…”

Rylen clears his throat and looks away as she trails off, his eyes instinctively wandering to the corner where the Seeker is sitting with Sister Nightingale. “Ah - no, no,” he answers with an emphatic nod of his head.

“Lost interest?”

“No, she - turned me down,” he admits. As he says it though his gaze finds the lass he wants to see most tonight wandering through the busy crowd, carrying a tray of full wooden tankards.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right, m’lady,” he murmurs absently, eyes still fixed on the Vint barmaid he’d met earlier that day. Well, met isn’t really the right word, considering she wouldn’t even tell him her name. “Some things just aren’t meant to be.”

“I see you’re not one to stay down for long,” Cecilia teases from beside him, giggling heartily.

He looks her way and sees her glancing between him and the barmaid he’s been watching so avidly.

“Well - tell me about her!” she insists, tapping his arm when the lass finally turns so they can see her face. “Oh she’s beautiful! But there’s something about her - back home we’d call it ‘resting bitch face,’ she -”

“What?” he interrupts, and he laughs until he can hardly breathe. “What a strange saying. She looks - feisty, I’d say. I like it.”

“So? How’s it going?”

“I’m going to marry the lass,” he asserts again, knowing that it’s true. He can feel it in his gut, he’s known it since the first moment he saw her that very morning, when she’d met his gaze so teasingly, positively -  _ challengingly _ . No lass had ever looked at him like that, and he knows he wants to see that smirk for the rest of his days.

“You - oh my, so quickly! What’s her name?”

“Once I find out, I’ll be certain to tell you,” he says. He glances at her and gives her a wink, taking in the mildly amused surprise on her face. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course, after all sounds like you have a lot of wooing to do,” she teases, gesturing a hand for him as if to say ‘carry on, then.’

With a deep bow he walks off, crossing the tavern to the bar so that he can catch the barmaid when she returns for more drinks. He’s more collected than he was that morning, determined not to say anything as blasted  _ stupid _ as he had then. For the entire day he’s heard her mocking tone saying,  _ “I bet you can figure that out on your own, if you think real hard about it _ .”

No, this time he won’t say anything that stupid.

“Ah, I see you figured out where I’d be this evening,” the barmaid quips when she sees him. There are other recruits and soldiers along the bar vying for her attention, some holding out coin, but she stands with her hands on her hips, holding his gaze. She raises one eyebrow as she looks him over, taking in the clean cotton shirt and leather jerkin he wears. “More Mackay’s?”

“Actually, all I’d like is your name,” he tells her with a charming smile.

She laughs and shakes her head. “And why might that be,  _ Knight-Captain _ ?” she challenges. “Worried about the Vint mage working in the tavern? All mages are apostates in the South, now - seems a bit ridiculous to focus on little ol’ me with all the others running around, too.”

He fights the grimace he wants to make at the confirmation that she’s a mage as he’d suspected, and hating that she already knows he is - was? - a Templar. He had hoped he could tell her himself, assure her he isn’t interested in mage hunting anymore. But he proceeds undaunted, maintaining his smile as he winks at her. “No, lass, nothing like that,” he assures her. “I’d just like to know my future wife’s name.”

She straightens slightly, putting her shoulders back and raising her chin. “Cocky,” she accuses, but if he’s not mistaken she’s trying to hold back a smile. “You know - the last marriage proposal I got led to me fleeing South. The Inquisition sounded infinitely better than matrimony. I’m not so sure you’ll be as lucky as you’d like to be.”

With that she turns away, finally giving her attention to a few of the recruits nearby who have been trying to flag her down.

Rylen watches as she moves behind the bar, eyes never leaving her as she carries on with her work. She seems to chafe slightly under his attention, pointedly avoiding his gaze but carrying herself as if she’s keenly aware of it the whole time. After serving a few drinks she turns on him and slaps a hand on the bar between them.

“Do you mind?” she snaps.

“I think I will take you up on that Mackay’s,” he muses. “I was simply waiting my turn. Two, though, if you please. I’m waiting for someone.”

For a moment she glares at him, as if debating whether or not to serve him. But she pushes away from the bar and snatches the bottle of Mackay’s, pouring two cups’ worth and spilling some as she tries to rush through the task. When she sets them before him he slides her several sovereigns - far more than the cost of the drinks.

“No,” she tells him, pushing back the coin.

“Are you buying?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I mean - just pay for the drinks,” she explains. “Don’t do this - ‘let me slip you extra coin’ kaffas.”

He chuckles and returns the sovereigns to his pockets, instead tossing her the few silvers the drinks cost.

“Thank you,” she tells him, giving a mock bow before she turns away.

Rylen takes a seat at the bar, the second cup of Mackay’s sitting at the stool beside him. For a long time he sits and merely sips his drink, waiting patiently and occasionally looking out over the revelries. The Commander and Cecilia are sitting at a table, several well wishers surrounding them, though both are beginning to look tired and as if they’re eyeing the door. The sight makes Rylen chuckle, and he instead searches out the lass making her way through the common room. Each time she comes back near the bar she eyes the empty stool beside him, the cup of Mackay’s that waits patiently before it. If he isn’t mistaken, something curious and almost irritated comes into her eyes when she sees it, but she always quickly turns her attention to her patrons with a smile, avoiding his gaze.

“Yer takin’ up a space,” a gruff voice scolds from behind the bar, and Rylen turns to face it once more. The tavern owner, Cabot, is glaring at the empty bar stool beside him.

“I’m waiting for someone,” Rylen explains.

“How long you plannin’ on waiting?”

“As long as necessary,” Rylen answers with a shrug.

Cabot narrows his eyes and grumbles to himself as he grabs a rag and begins to wipe at a dirty cup.

Rylen waits another moment and then clears his throat. “The Vint lass - she’s been working since this morning,” he comments, trying to sound disinterested.

“Yeah but she said she needs the coin,” Cabot defends himself. “And yer the one who asked for this damned celebration in the first place.”

“Aye, that I did,” Rylen agrees. He shrugs and lifts his cup, but lowers it before taking a sip. “You have another lass working here -”

“Two, now,” Cabot corrects. “Although Bess is usually tied up with the Chargers. Seems to spend a lot of time checking on that other Vint - Cream, or -”

“Krem,” Rylen corrects in turn. He chuckles to himself as he thinks about just why that may be. “I think you can let the Vint lass take a rest for the night, hm?”

Cabot studies him for several long moments, jaw flexing as he thinks. “Perhaps,” he says finally. “Why - you making designs on her? She’s the best barmaid I’ve got, so if you’re thinking of -”

“Just tell her to take the rest of the night,” Rylen insists, waving a hand to reassure the man. “She deserves it.”

Cabot grumbles some more under his breath, but when the lass comes back to the bar he gestures her over. They have a brief conversation, the lass’ brows furrowing deeper as it goes on. As Cabot walks away she turns a glare to Rylen, but he hardly has any time to really worry about her reaction before she marches around the bar to him.

“You -  _ you _ -” she begins, throwing down the rag in her hand.

“Some Mackay’s, lass?” he offers, gesturing to the cup waiting before the empty bar stool.

She stares at it, then returns her glare to him. The contact of her fingers around his wrist shocks him, though he realizes it’s simply the sudden contact of her skin on his and not actually a burst of magical energy. With surprising insistence she drags him off his stool, leading him swiftly through the crowd and out into the courtyard beyond the door.

Once outside she leads him to a corner before she whirls around, her dark eyes gleaming even in the meager moonlight. “How - how  _ dare _ you. I need the coin, you don’t get to - to insist that I not work just so that I’ll have a drink with you -”

“That’s not why, lass,” he interjects, putting his hands on his hips as he meets her challenging glare.

“Oh? You really expect me to believe you didn’t convince Cabot to let me off for the night so you could try to get me drunk -”

“You’ve been working since the break of day, I saw you opening the tavern for breakfast,” Rylen points out, not raising his voice but she cuts off her protests anyway. “And it’s my fault you’re still having to work now when it’s almost midnight. I’m in charge of the Inquisition’s forces, including the morale in the tavern - including you. I’ll not have you working yourself to the bone because I was trying to give the men a break and throw a celebration for the Commander.”

“I - I - you just wanted me to get off work so you could try to talk your way into...” she stutters, but she seems to be struggling to keep up the fire of her anger.

“No, I wanted you off your feet,” he insists again as she trails off in her protests. “The Mackay’s was a peace offering, a chance at some relaxation. That was the opportunity to woo you, not telling Cabot he was overworking you.”

“So you - what if I’d said no to the drink?” she asks, shrugging nonchalantly. “Or told you no after?”

“You’re free to, lass,” he tells her, gesturing a hand back to the tavern. “Do what you will. I only thought maybe you’d like a drink at the end of such a long day, and bought one for you.”

She considers, glancing between him and the door. “So if I go back in there and don’t speak with you at all…”

He shrugs, even though the idea makes him want to sigh. “As you wish, lass,” he assures her. “I’ll not force my company on you.”

“No?” she counters, raising an eyebrow. “That’s funny, I could have sworn not that long ago you were sitting watching me work.”

“You’re a pretty lass,” he tells her. “Apologies but I can’t quite seem to take my eyes off you.”

Pursing her lips she studies his face, eyes roaming over him slowly as if evaluating. “You still cost me good coin,” she accuses. “You can’t imagine how much it cost me to get here, how little I have -”

Her voice is rising again, and he takes a step toward her, holding his hands out. “Lass, please -”

“‘Lass please’ what? Ever since this morning you’ve been bothering me -”

“What have I done but speak with you and try to get you off your feet -”

“ - and likely into your bed -”

“I simply asked your name!” he finally cries, gesturing his arms wide as he heaves an exasperated sigh. “Is it so horrible to want to know your name? You’re a beautiful, fascinating lass and aye - I want to get to know you better. I leave tomorrow for Adamant and you’re right, I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought of spending the night with you. But I’m not going to stand here and be accused of things I didn’t do or intend - so if you’ll excuse me -”

“Abigail.”

He stops half-turned from her and looks back, raising one eyebrow as he watches her silently.

“My - my name is Abigail,” she murmurs. She takes a few steps toward him and grabs his wrist again, turning him back to face her. “What’s - what’s your name?”

“Rylen,” he tells her, keeping his eyes fixed on her face in wonder, amazed when her arms come around his neck. He lets her guide him to her, and soon they stumble slightly until she’s against the wall of the tavern, half-concealed in shadow. “Lass -”

“Abigail,” she breathes, and she twists her fingers into his hair.

Bracing himself against the wall he lowers his face to hers, hesitantly leaning closer to seek out her lips. She surges upward and closes the distance, though, crashing her mouth to his as she tries to pull him even closer to her. The kiss tears through him like fire, and he gives up all of his hesitancy as she parts her lips to allow him to taste her.

Time ceases to exist as he slants his mouth, sliding his tongue against hers greedily, one large hand holding her fragile neck. She moans into his mouth, fingers still clutching him tightly before she drags them to the front of him. When she begins to tug at the laces of his leather jerkin, he pulls away slightly to look down at her.

“You ride off to danger tomorrow, right?” she asks breathlessly.

“Aye, I - I do,” he tells her.

She continues working at the leather, and once she has it opened she tugs his shirt from where it’s tucked into his leather breeches. “It won’t do to send you off without some proper memories,” she murmurs as she slips her hands beneath the cotton of his shirt, lightly trailing her fingers up the skin of his stomach.

He can’t think of anything to say, and instead merely presses her back against the wall to capture her lips with his once more. She’s still struggling with trying to free him from the leather jerkin, kissing him just as eagerly as he’s kissing her. When he begins to tug at her shirt as well she laughs softly against his lips.

“Captain! Maker’s breath - can’t you at least find a room?” a deep and incredibly familiar voice calls out.

Rylen breaks the kiss and glances over his shoulder, only to see Cullen and Cecilia standing nearby. Cullen seems on the verge of shaking with laughter, and Cecilia is pressing her fingers to her lips as she takes in the sight of Rylen disheveled and half out of his shirt.

“They’re likely all full up, Commander,” Rylen responds with a smirk.

Abigail’s hands pull at his neck and shoulders, trying to bring him back to her. “Ry,” she purrs, apparently undisturbed by the sight of the other two. 

“Slip away while you can, mate - I’d hate for you to spend your whole wedding night in the crowded tavern,” Rylen tells the other man.

With that he allows Abigail to pull him back to her, paying no more heed to the couple behind him as he resumes the passionate kiss he had been giving the lass. He’s fairly certain he hears them laughing even as quick footsteps scurry to the stairs leading up to the Commander’s tower.

After several moments he pulls away, intrigued by the soft whine she lets out as soon as his lips leave hers. “I do have a room in one of the towers you know, lass,” he tells her.

“Then what are we waiting for?” she asks, staring up with wide, suggestive eyes, and bats her eyelashes at him.

He chuckles and grabs her hand, hurrying her away from the tavern in the direction of his shabby, bare room. A bed, at least, will offer him the chance to actually spend his time on her, instead of taking her quickly in the shadows of the battlements.

As soon as he closes the door behind them, he feels her tugging at his clothes again. Deciding it’s easiest to assist her, he throws the jerkin aside before he pulls his shirt over his head. When he faces her at last he watches as her eyes roam over him, and they meet his once more, darker than before in her lust.

Rylen plucks at her blouse playfully. “This is in my way of enjoying the view as well, lass.”

With her characteristic smirk she reaches for the hem, slowly pulling it off without breaking eye contact as she does. Once she’s thrown it aside, her fingers move to the laces on her leather breeches, and he watches eagerly as she slides them off as well after kicking off her shoes. The moonlight streaming into the room casts her olive skin in a beautiful glow, the dark rose of her taut nipples drawing his gaze.

“You’re even more beautiful than I imagined, lass,” he murmurs.

She heaves an exasperated sigh, shaking her head. “Are you just going to stare? Or did you invite me up here to talk?”

Rylen chuckles as he steps forward, and in one swift motion he easily slings her over his shoulder. As he turns her squealing, wriggling figure to the bed he reaches a hand up to slap her rear, drawing a startled gasp from her. But he then places his hand on one plump cheek, caressing it for a moment before he hoists her from his shoulder onto his bed.

She giggles almost breathlessly and scurries to push herself to her knees, arms reaching out for where he stands beside the bed to pull him to her. Her fingers work quickly at his breeches, and she slips a hand into them as soon as they’re loose, eagerly withdrawing his hard cock so that she can take it in her fingers.

“Lass -”

“I told you, it’s Abigail,” she corrects, and leans forward to press her lips to his chest. Her wet kisses trail lower, following the way his dark hair tapers and leads to a thin path below his navel.

He twines his fingers into her hair and pulls her head back. “Abigail, lay back,” he tells her softly.

“I was going to su -” she tries to protest, but he reaches down and grabs her thighs, quickly unbalancing her and flipping her onto her back. “Ry! Don’t you want me to -”

Before she can insist further he kneels at the side of the bed, one thigh in each hand as he buries his face against her. A shocked cry quickly gives way to a moan, and she slides her hands into his hair, as if to hold him in place. Eagerly he continues to run his tongue along her pearl, loving the way she’s pressing him to her as she rolls her hips, clearly desperate to seek her pleasure.

She writhes when she finds it, calling out his name as her thighs shake in his grasp. Her hold on his hair loosens and he pushes himself to his feet so that he can tug off his boots and shuck his breeches away. Abigail stirs on the bed, a soft smile coming to her as he stretches over her.

“I thought you just wanted your release,” she murmurs.

Rylen scoffs, shaking his head. “I was serious, lass - I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all day,” he admits. “I wasn’t just hoping to warm my bed before I leave.”

A soft frown comes to her, but it disappears so quickly that he wonders if he imagined it. Before he can do anything she suddenly shoves at his shoulders, and she scrambles to follow, trying to guide him onto his back. He shifts and tries to resist the readjustment, since he had planned - and hoped, he supposed - to be on top. For several moments they wrestle, the lass showing surprising strength as she tries to roll him over.

It only excites him more, and he realizes he’s keen to see why she’s so eager to win their playful struggle. Relaxing, he gives one last effort, almost unseating her, but then he ceases his full effort.

With a giggle of triumph she pins his hands above his head, straddling him as she leans down to catch his lip between her teeth.

“I win,” she purrs.

“Aye, Abigail. You got me,” he concedes, smiling brightly as he savors her face so close to his. “Now what do you plan to do with me?”

“Hmm,” she hums mischievously, and she begins to roll her hips against him. His cock slides between her wet folds, and he groans as she continues to teasingly rub her pearl on his length. “A captive Knight-Captain of my own...whatever shall a Vint like me do with him?”

“Hopefully be kind,” Rylen suggests. He lets out another moan, closing his eyes for a moment to get himself back in control. It’s almost too much; the sight of her sparkling eyes above him, the teasing in her voice as she continues slowly rolling her hips on him, exciting them both to what he hopes isn’t a breaking point.

“I  _ could _ be kind,” she muses slowly. She shifts her hips, and he feels her wet heat resting against his tip, ready to engulf him. “But where’s the fun in that?”

As she says it she begins to cover his length, drawing a deep moan from him at the torturous pace she takes to do it. Her eyes flutter for a moment, but she smiles and lifts her hips, almost allowing him to fall out of her before she stops. Again and again she does this, thrusting so slowly on him he finds himself almost growling in frustration. When he tries to thrust up to meet her, she pulls off of him, leaning back over him as her grip tightens on his wrists.

“Sorry, Templar,” she drawls. “This is one mage you’re not in charge of.”

Rylen chuckles, unable to resist, realizing he’s enjoying the way she’s working so hard to tease him. He hadn’t expected it, and instead of trying to take command again he lays back, a relaxed and confident smile on his face. “Aye, Abigail. After all, I am at your mercy.”

“Right where I want you,” she tells him. As she takes him into her again she catches his lips with hers, kissing him passionately, occasionally nibbling his bottom lip.

Her pace gradually begins to increase and her mouth pulls off of his as she moans. He realizes he can feel her tightening and fluttering around him, getting close once more. As wonderful as the sight of her above him is, he longs to see her beneath him as he had initially planned. With one swift move, he pulls his wrists from her grasp and wraps his arms around her, rolling her easily to her back.

“Ry!”

“My turn, Abigail,” he tells her. Propping himself above her, he thrusts deep, savoring the feel of her for a moment before he begins moving in earnest. Rolling and snapping his hips into hers, he watches as she arches off the bed, her legs wrapped around him as her nails dig into his back.

The clenching of her inner walls around him intensifies, and he moves one hand to where they’re joined. He rests his thumb against her and begins swirling it around her pearl, eagerly studying how she shudders at his touch.

“Ry - fasta vass - fasta - oh, Maker, please don’t stop, please,” she begs desperately, clinging to him with the same strength she had shown earlier in their lively struggle.

He leans over her and brushes her lips with his, commanding her gaze. “I’d never dream of it,” he assures her.

A long whimpering sob is pulled from her, more gasps of his name as she falls over the edge, her hips responding to his thrusts as if trying to drive him over it as well. The moment she finishes, he pulls himself from her, unable to hold on any longer after feeling her fervent release around him. With a hand he spills his spend on her taut abdomen, groaning as he shudders.

When he’s finally able to think and move again he looks at her, finding himself unable to speak the moment he takes in her beauty. Her cheeks are flushed, her parted lips glistening, dark hair spread out on the pillow beneath her. The softness of her gaze pulls at something within him, and without any hesitation he leans over her to press his lips to hers in a tender kiss.

“You’re - quite different than I imagined,” she murmurs, but she frowns after she says it and shakes her head. “Forget I -”

“What did you expect, lass?” he prompts, holding back the chuckle he wants to let out. “Did you expect some boor who only wanted to come, and didn’t care about anything else?”

The furtive look she gives silently confirms his speculation, and he finally chuckles.

“If I’d wanted that, I could have just used my hand,” he tells her. “But if that’s what you expected, why did you agree? You could have said no.”

“You were honest,” she confesses softly. “I could tell you would have been disappointed, but you told me exactly what you wanted or hoped for, and let me decide.”

Rylen raises his eyebrows, surprised. “And that made you want me?”

“I’m - I wasn’t always used to having choices about my life,” she tells him. “It’s why I came south, I hoped for - a different kind of life than I’d had. And you made me feel safe to choose.”

As if realizing she had been too honest, she clears her throat and looks away from him.

“Well, that and you’re quite handsome. I had to know what was under those clothes,” she adds, but he can tell she’s trying to distract from what she had confessed.

“Abigail,” he whispers, cupping her cheek to get her to look at him. “You’ll always have a choice with me. I know I said I wanted to know the name of my future wife, but - if all you want is tonight, I understand.”

“You ride off to the Approach tomorrow,” she muses, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “I figured that made you less risky, considering you might not come back…”

Rylen chuckles, but leans down to kiss her once more. “Aye, that’s true,” he agrees. “And since I might be riding to my death - any chance a lovely lass like you might choose to gift me with a few more memories to savor along the way?”

She frowns as she peers up at him. “Don’t you leave at the dawn? I’d hate to wear you out before a long journey.”

“I can be tired tomorrow,” he assures her. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead. If I only have one night with you, I have much better ideas of what to do with it than sleeping.”

“All right, Templar,” she purrs, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Let’s make some memories.”


End file.
